Thanksgiving Abroad: At Home in Rome

Thanksgiving is a holiday associated with home, but not all Americans live in the 50 states. This week, we’re sharing tales (and recipes) of those Thanksgiving devotees who have made their meals abroad

I was 20 years old when I roasted my first Thanksgiving turkey far from home. I had just arrived in Paris for what should have been a nine-month stint as an exchange student, unaware that it would be the first of nearly three decades of Thanksgivings I have cooked away from my native California. Over the years, the countries have varied, as have the guests and the menus. But what doesn’t change from year to year is that for a few hours I gather friends, acquaintances and the occasional stranger under my roof to partake in the spirit of sharing and abundance that makes this quintessentially American celebration universal.

Sometimes it was necessity, not choice, that determined the menu. For what must have been my third Thanksgiving in Paris (where I’d landed a fabulously underpaid job as an English assistant in a lycée), 50 francs got me a dozen quail at the then-ungentrified Marché d’Aligre. I patiently snipped off their heads and plucked their stray feathers, then stuffed them with chestnuts and raisins and browned them on a hotplate. A single bag of airlifted cranberries found at Fauchon cost almost as much as the meat, but I splurged and stewed them in otherwise undrinkable Beaujolais nouveau. Without an oven, fresh pumpkin became a spiced mousse. My friends and I were impecunious, but that night we feasted and gave thanks.

A couple of careers and several years later, work took me to London. An oven I was promised failed to materialize on Thanksgiving morning, and I was left contemplating the prospect of two uncooked turkeys and three dozen guests for dinner. I wedged one bird into my own tiny oven. I thought about sending the other across town in a black cab to a waiting kitchen, but finally opted for a creatively simple solution. I lopped off the turkey’s legs and back, set my crown of turkey on a bed of vegetables I arranged in the family-size tagine I had lugged back from a vacation in Marrakech, whispered a prayer to the gods of plenty, and slapped on the lid. The turkey was moist and flavorful, and oh, was I grateful.

Though Paris remains my spiritual home, a mixture of professional obligation and serendipity has meant that I have had to plan turkey dinners in some unlikely places. Last year, I found myself wandering the aisles of the luxury food halls in Bangkok, fascinated by the imported frozen turkeys injected with brine and butter flavor. In other circumstances, I would have turned up my nose at such an industrial aberration, but in sub-tropical Bangkok it was the link I needed to a traditional turkey dinner. I injected exotic flavor into other dishes: a corn-based succotash with ginger, kaffir lime, and chilis; green papaya som tam instead of cole slaw; and locally grown pineapple in a flan made with condensed milk, ubiquitous in Thailand.

Though I travel even more now than I used to, this year I’ll be in Rome, the city I have called home for the last four years. I am lucky to live within walking distance of the multi-ethnic Mercato Esquilino. There I’ll find Colombian cornmeal, halal buttermilk, African sweet potatoes, and our turkeys. My American-sized order–two fifteen-pound birds that would look positively puny back home–inevitably bemuses my butcher. “What, no turkey today?” he asks the other 51 weeks of the year. The cornmeal and buttermilk will go into hushpuppies flecked with guanciale, the full-flavored cured pork jowl favored by Romans; the sweet potatoes will be blanched, covered with crushed amaretti biscuits and olive oil, then roasted. I’ll dust off my antique food grinder to make Aunt Carol’s raw cranberry relish. Maybe I’ll rub a little tartuffata truffle paste under the skins of the turkeys. And finally, after making pumpkin charlotte in Paris and pumpkin trifle in London, I am going to serve yet another pumpkin dessert, this time with a decidedly Italian slant to it.

More likely than not, something at the market will catch my eye at the last minute and find its way to my table. But whatever the menu, I am going to make sure that my guests leave with a warm glow and full bellies. Pass the cranberries, per favore.

Aunt Carol’s Cranberry Relish (Revisited)

I have to come clean: Carol isn’t my aunt, but I’d be delighted if she were. She gave me one of the most prized possessions in my kitchen, an antique American food grinder that clamps onto counters or table edges. I have used for years to make pâtés and her simple, stunning relish.

Cut the orange into wedges, removing all the seeds, but leaving the skin on. Grind it with the cranberries in a food grinder or pulsing in a food processor. You want the mixture to be coarse, so do not over-process. Add sugar, spice and brandy to taste, then set aside for several hours or overnight. Taste again, correct seasoning and serve.

My friend Simona’s dad would make these with familiar biscotti with wild fennel seeds, but the crystallized ginger adds an untraditional zing. The mousse is a variation of the Paris dessert I made up years ago.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Lightly grease a cookie sheet and set aside. Mix all ingredients thoroughly, then form into two equally-sized rectangles about 1/2 inch high. Bake on sheet for 20 minutes until lightly colored. Cool on a wire rack.

Reheat oven to 350 degrees F. Cut each rectangle into strips about 1/2 inch wide, place on a cookie sheet and bake about 15 minutes for a more tender cookie, or about 20-25 minutes for a dryer, crisper one. Makes about 2 dozen.

Mix egg yolks, half of the cheese and sugar in the top of a double boiler and stir until thickened slightly. (Alternatively, heat on full power in microwave, removing every 30 seconds for stir. Remove when it begins to thicken.) Add pumpkin, remaining cheese and spice, mix, then let cool. Beat egg whites into soft peaks, fold into pumpkin mixture, taste for seasoning then chill until ready to serve with cookies and whipped cream. Layering the mousse and cream makes a pretty parfait. Serves 8.

*Note: I think that you get the most flavor out a pumpkin by slow-roasting it. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F, blanch or steam wedges skin on and seeds discarded for about 10 minutes, then drain and roast until soft and flesh just begins to caramelize around the edges, about 30-45 minutes, depending on the squash. Remove from oven, skin when cool enough to handle, then puree using a blender, food processor or food mill. You can however substitute steamed pumpkin or unflavored canned pumpkin. Other squashes can be used. I used buttercup squash with great results.

After being offered a job on a bus, Vincent Vichit-Vadakan worked for 20 years as a literary agent in Paris and London. He now spends his time traveling and cooking for friends.

Note: These recipes have not been tested by the Bon Appetit Test Kitchen.